Bump
by Soulreciever
Summary: He'd wanted to relax, to 'get away from it all', sadly fate had other ideas. Slash, GS4 spoilers, OOC, OC, angst, potential AU
1. Vacation

Bump

Bump

1. 'Vacation'.

T: Beware the giant GS4 spoilers, the random OOC, the playing with events for my own means, the potential AU, the angst and the slash demon that'll appear later down the line. I own nothing you see here other than the plot (what little there is!!)

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He'd decided that enough was enough, had told a vaguely convincing lie to Mr Wright and shipped himself off to England for a vacation.

He'd just started to unwind re when he'd caught a living mystery checking in at the desk. Of course the obsessively curios and occasionally nosy lawyer within him had jumped on the opportunity presented by the other's arrival and, very swiftly, his vacation had turned into yet another case.

With hindsight he might have been a little more cautious in his investigations, been a little subtler with his questions and then he might have been able to avoid the instant where his targets voice had enquired, "So you're the one who's been nosing around, are you?" and his heart had all but stopped.

Turning he has an instant to take in the other's features and then, smile twisting into something derisive, he says, "Somehow I'd expected something a little more than this from the 'great' Apollo Justice."

"So you did a little investigating of your own."

"It seemed only fair," The other responds before enquiring, "So why are your wasting your talents on the matter of my past, Apollo Justice?"

"I wanted to satisfy my curiosity."

"That, at least, is an answer befitting Wright's apprentice." The other remarks, before offering his hand and saying, "Erin Milton, head of Legal Studies at Highgate University, though you may know me better as Miles Edgeworth, Daemon Prosecutor."

He shakes the offered appendage firmly and then enquires,

"Why are you here, Mr Edgeworth?"

"To enlighten the ignorant on the intricacies of this countries legal system," he responds, before adding, "Though of course you meant, 'why are you in England rather than America' to which the response is 'to hide'."

"But why?"

"What fun would it be if I told you, Mr Justice?" He enquires before informing him, "Why not take a little trip out to Highgate, you never know what you might learn."

Smile twisting into something that can almost be seen as a tease the other pats him firmly on the shoulder and then heads off towards the bar.

Feeling the warning tenseness of an oncoming headache he places a false smile onto his lips and retreats towards his room.

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"Something told me that it was all an elaborate ruse." His sister's voice, crackly for the shear volume of distance between them, remarks, before informing him, "Daddy's none the wiser and, in respect to the clear effort you put into your excuse, I'll make sure it stays that way."

"Thank you,"

There is a moment of silence and then Trucy enquires,

"So why did you break your cover?"

"Miles Edgeworth."

Again a silence falls over the line and then, her voice full of a tension that he does not recognise, she enquires,

"How can I help?"

"I want you to tell me everything you know about the sort of man he was outside the courtroom."

"He was a man recovering from years of self imposed social exile and thus he was often cold or abrasive where others might be genial or gentle. He was a man full of a bright passion of the sort that could easily overthrow governments if he had so wished and, finally, he was a man haunted always by the scars of the past."

"That was also the impression that I had gathered and yet the man that I met today was none of those things…was, in fact, almost a complete opposite."

"Time changes everyone, Polly," She responds before enquiring, "How are you finding London?"

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After a brief discussion with the head of Highgate university he'd worked his way across the campus to tiny little office that Miles Edgeworth called his own. A brief rummage through the paperwork had tossed up little more than a slightly unusual reading list and he'd been about to give up hope, when a voice remarks,

"Erin believes that debate is essential in a productive learning environment and so he deliberately chooses texts that are inflammatory in their content."

Glancing towards the door he is met with the amiable smile of a stranger and, tensing, he remarks,

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be prying but…"

"You were curious. Such a thing is natural for one in your line of work." The stranger responds before informing him, "I'm Adrian Brody, head of the Psychology department and 'long time friend' of Professor Milton."

"Apollo Justice." There is clearly some note of the curiosity he is feeling in his voice, for without prompt, Adrian says,

"I simply assumed that you were somehow involved in the legal profession."

"Did you make that assumption based on my interest in the Professor?"

"Correct and yes, before you ask, there have been others before you who have also shown such an interest."

"From the tone in your voice I'm guessing they were given a slightly different reception,"

"Correct."

"Then why treat me any differently?"

"Trust," Adrian responds before adding, "Both in my own heart and in Erin's also."

"Then he told you that I was coming?"

"No, I simply understand what sort of person it is that Erin trusts." There is a weight to that statement that he does not quite understand and yet he does not question this fact but instead enquires,

"What can you tell me of his past, of his reasons for coming here to this place?"

"As a psychologist I can tell you that there is something in his past that he fears, that he has chosen to flee from this fear rather than face it. I can also tell you that that fear is a creation of his own mind and that this is not the first that he has chosen to flee rather than fight." Smile, at last, slipping from his lips, Adrian pauses a moment and then, voice altogether more serious, he says, "As his friend I can tell you that he left his heart back in America, that he is full of a virulent self hatred because of his actions and that he is looking to you for redemption."

"But why, what does he think that I can do?"

"There, I'm afraid, I can't help you." He responds before placing a hand into his pocket and pulling free a slip of paper, "I can however point you in the direction of something that might shed a little more light onto the situation."

Written on the slip is the familiar five digit coding of a case file and, mind filling again with hope, he enquires,

"Is there somewhere that I can make an international call?"

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T: So there we have it! Hopefully I should have the next chapter out for you on Tuesday, until then why not review??


	2. The distant past

2

2. The distant past.

T: Warnings and disclaimers remain the same.

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The tinge of excitement clear in her brother's voice does little to dissuade the terrible sense of foreboding that has knotted itself into her stomach and yet it is enough to have her agreeing to his request rather than giving the denial that had been her initial impulse.

Hastily scribbling down the number that Apollo recites she bids him a swift goodbye, makes her excuses to her still sleeping father and then makes her way down to the courthouse.

It takes a few minutes to locate someone who understands how the filing system works and then a further half hour to locate the file in question. The file is simple enough, the plane manila envelope marked with a printed replica of its code and a handwritten annotation of the more informal code used by lawyers to identify their cases. Each loop and slant of this collection of numbers and letters has been created with her father's unique hand and yet he has never once openly discussed this case or even mentioned it in passing.

Foreboding tightening just that little on her stomach she opens the envelope out and begins to work her way through the various slips of paper contained within.

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_Pail grey eyes stair at him with a strong mix of desperation and curiosity, a combination he has long since become used to and which further strengthens his resolve._

"_I'll gladly help you, Mr Guard, but first I need know what actually happened."_

"_I was simply doing my rounds, Mr Wright, when the alarm went off. 'Course I ran to the painting that'd set it off and then boom out I went like a light. Next I know the boss was loomin' over me with a couple of coppers askin' for my arrest."_

"_What time did the alarm sound?"_

"_8:30 pm, right on the dot."_

"_How can you be so very specific?"_

"_I heard the old Westminster in the lobby chimin' not two seconds previous. She's set a little fast, see, to make sure the other clocks in the place are keepin' the right time."_

"_Can you recall how you were knocked out, Mr Guard?" He enquires as he makes a swift note of the previous nugget of information._

"_Far as I could see, Mr Wright, there wasn't nothin' or nobody there, but then I was only conscious for the briefest of instants after steppin' into that room."_

"_Yes, well, thank you for the pointers, Mr Guard and I'll be certain to come back and see you if anything else comes to mind." Hearing well the insincerity in his own voice he scrabbles to his feet, bids his client another farewell and starts the long walk to the museum. _

_He'd just hoped that there would be something there that'd either clarify the case a little or instil just a smidgen of hope into his heart. _

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_The sight of Gumshoe's smiling face as he steps into the museums decedent lobby, fills him with the oddest mix of despair and relief. _

"_Oh hey, pal" The detective remarks as he spots him, the cheerful tone of his voice continuing as he says, "I'm afraid you're going to have a hard time with this one, pal."_

_Faint edges of a tension headache beginning at the corners of his eyes he forces his lips into a bright smile and enquires,_

"_Have you found the painting?"_

"_Not yet, pal, but it's only a matter of time. The department's got their best turning over Mr Guard's flat as we speak, you see."_

_Biting back the urge to point out the obvious to the Detective he, instead, responds,_

"_Then there's still hope. Without the painting you've no solid evidence that my client is at all involved in this case, beyond, of course, his 'official' capacity."_

"_I guess that's true, pal." The Detective remarks, before enquiring, "You want a look around the crime scene, right?"_

"_Right."_

_Beckoning to __ the other policeman, who had until that point been observing them from the opposite side of the room, Gumshoe holds a brief, whispered conversation, before clapping him hard about the shoulder and guiding him under the police tap and into the crime scene._

"_At precisely 8:30 last night the security system tied into the controversial 'Portrait of a man' was activated. Ten minuets later the museum head, as well as two police officers altered by the alarm, found the painting missing and Mr Guard unconscious on the floor. No one other than Mr Guard was spotted entering or leaving the room's one doorway in the moments before of after the alarm and traces of the unique oil used on the painting were found on his fingers."_

"_Yet even with those traces doesn't the fact that he was unconscious rule him out as a suspect?"_

"_We're currently working on the theory that Mr Guard had arranged for an accomplice to collect that painting from one of the adjacent rooms and that, after making the drop, he knocked himself out in order to remain free from the suspect list."_

"_Isn't that a little far fetched?"_

"_Art crime is a tricky business, pal, and to get anywhere in it you need to be devious."_

_The logic is, infuriatingly, sound and optimism withering just a little further he begins to look for anything that might provide some form of clue._

_Almost instantly his eye is drawn to the blank space on the wall where once the painting had hung. A cursory glance about the wall informs him that nothing other than the painting had been disturbed during the theft, precision that would, along with Gumshoe's working theory, require expert knowledge of both the building and of the 'business'. _

_With the prospect of a long night researching his client's background pressing him further into depression, he moves onto examining the room itself._

_This time his eyes are drawn to the security camera's that dot the ceiling and, optimism once more worming its way into his heart, he enquires, _

"_Have you checked the footage on those cameras?" _

"_Ah, I'm sorry to tell you this, Pal, but every camera in the area cuts into static a few seconds after the alarm trips."_

_The words should, of course, make him feel all the worse and yet rather than do as such they prompt him to enquire, "Has the sound also been lost?" Without quite understanding why. _

"_I couldn't say, Pal."_

"_Could you have a copy of the footage sent to my office, Detective?"_

"_Can I ask why?"_

"_A hunch."_

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_Letting out a tense little breathy her picks the phone off the hook, presses the receiver into the crook of his neck and __types in an increasingly familiar number._

_For a moment it seems as though his effort will prove fruitless and then a confident, obviously tired voice, remarks,_

"_This better be important, Wright."_

_Smiling a little simply for the comforting sound of the other's voice, he enquires,_

"_Do you still keep in touch with Emma?"_

"_She writes every now and again to let me know how her studies are going."_

"_In which case do you think you could send me her address?"_

"_For what purpose?"_

"_I've got a little security camera footage that I want her to look at."_

"_Footage that relates to a case that you've undertaken?"_

"_That's correct."_

"_Might I have the details?"_

"_Sure." He proceeds to inform his friend of every little nuance of the case and, after a brief instant of silence, the other says,_

"_Clearly you are unable to cope with working on a case without assistance and, as Miss Fey is currently 'occupied'…" The sentence remains uncompleted, possibly because he feels embarrassed to complete the thought or possibly because his foolish pride prevents him from doing as such. He understand the intent of the words, however, and smiling, he says, _

"_Thank you, Miles," before he ends the call. _

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T: Next chapter should hopefully be up on Sunday, until then why not R+R


	3. Partnership

3

3. Partnership.

T: Warnings and disclaimers still remain the same.

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"_How you managed to even complete the bar exam is a total mystery." Miles remarks as he glances up from the pile of paperwork sprawled in front of him. _

_In that brief moment, with the frame of his reading glasses pressed high on the bridge of his nose and the light just so, his friend looks so very much like his father that the breath catches in his throat and he can do nothing other than 'gape'. Then the other moves and, the illusion shattered, his mind at last catches up with what Miles had actually said. _

"_I'll have you know that I'm usually a very methodical person, but what with Maya gone and the depressing lack of helpful evidence…"_

"_It's not over yet, Wright." The other remarks before informing him, "I did a little research on your client and I have some 'good news'."_

"_Which is?"_

"_Mr Guard suffers from sever sciatica and would struggle to lift even the lightest of objects without aggravating that condition."_

"_Which means it's impossible for him to have committed this crime, right?"_

"_Sadly it's not quite that simple." Miles responds before informing him, "A few months ago his condition became serious enough that it begun to affect his work. He was made to submit to a full medical in which he was prescribed something to not only ease the pain but bring his condition to a more controllable level. If he was still taking this medication at the time of the theft then it is no longer completely implausible for him to have committed the crime." _

"_I'll ask him about the medication when we go to see him this evening." He responds before enquiring, "Is there anything else I need to know?"_

"_Yes, but you're not going to like it."_

"_Tell me."_

"_It seems that Mr Guard's daughter is an up and coming artist and that before 'portrait of a man' appeared, it'd been one of her pieces that'd been tipped to fill the space in the museum's gallery."_

"_Which means he had a motive."_

"_Correct."_

_Head slumping into his hands he curses under his breath, before remarking, "So basically I'm in the same pickle as always."_

"_Which means you should be able to stage your usual spectacular last minute recovery," Miles smiles a smug smile and then says, "With my help, of course," before returning to his study of the case notes._

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_Wright conducts his interview with 'their' client with a patience that he is assured he would not be able to muster and that is eventually rewarded with the information that they had hoped to hear._

"_My medication ran out last week and I'd not had time to pick up another batch."_

_Feeling a little guilty for 'spoiling the moment' he enquires,_

"_You do realise that this places serve doubt over your account of the evening, don't you, Mr Guard?"_

_Brows furrowing into a displeased sort of frown 'their' client remarks,_

"_I don't know what you mean, nor do I like you makin' out like I'm the criminal here."_

"_I know this will seem hard to believe, Mr Guard, but I truly am doing this for your own good. If the prosecution catch one tiny contradiction they'll squeeze it for all that it's worth and have even you questioning your innocents."_

_Pressing a little towards him Wright enquires,_

"_What makes you so certain that he's contradicting himself, Miles?"_

"_A man in the sort of pain Mr Guard has been experiencing since his medication stopped would barely be able to walk, let alone run."_

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_Miles speaks the words in the carefully modulated tone that neither accuses or excuses and, the sour look fleeing from his face, Mr Guard says,_

"_Your friend is a sharp one, Mr Wright," before his head dips a little and he says, "Truth is that it took me a fair few minutes to get to that room, hobblin' away like I was."_

"_But why lie about something like that?"_

"_Pride and the fact that my story sound a little less believable when the truth's bein' told."_

"_I don't see…" he trails as his mind catches up with him and, feeling ridiculously stupid, he says, "Given your pace there should have been other guards in the room by the time you arrived and yet you do not recall seeing anyone."_

"_That's correct, Mr Wright."_

"_You are issued with headsets, is that correct, Mr Guard?" Miles enquires after a brief moment of silence._

"_That's correct; they're there so that the guards can alert one another to any suspicious characters they see in the buildin'."_

"_And the headset becomes the responsibility of the guard once it's been allocated, correct?"_

"_That's right, the boss said it'd give everyone a solid lesson in responsibility and told us all that if we lost our set we'd have to pay the two hundred dollars to get a new one."_

"_Would you allow us to borrow your headset for a while, Mr Guard?"_

"_Course, it's locked up in storage with all my other valuables." He responds before enquiring, "What do you want it for?"_

"_Evidence, Mr Guard." Miles responds before gaining his feet and leaving the room. _

_Swiftly tying the last few loose ends he bids Mr Guard a swift farewell and then chases after his friend. Once caught up he enquires,_

"_What is that headset going to prove, Miles?"_

"_That your client has been set up."_

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File tucked firmly under one arm she searches out the man who had helped her locate it and wheedles not only the permission to retain it but also the use of the phone hidden away in his office. Taking a shaky breath she dials the number of her brother's hotel and then waits patiently to be connected to his room.

"Did you find the file?" He enquires once they've exchanged brief pleasantries.

"I did."

"But?"

"It's missing its transcript." Pausing a moment to allow him to take on that information she then says, "The guy who runs the archives assures me that I'm the first person to read it, which means it was submitted like that, however…"

"Transcripts are a legal requirement and there's no way that a file could be submitted without one."

"Precisely."

There is a moment of little other than the subtle sound of Polly chewing the inside of his cheek and then he enquires,

"Who was the client?"

"A 'Stuart T. Guard'."

"Then there isn't an issue."

"Because?"

"The prosecution made the decision to drop the case before it ever went to court."

"But that makes no sense given the weight of evidence that they had on their side."

"The official line was that, after further investigation, it'd become clear that they could not trust the integrity of their evidence."

"And the unofficial line?"

"That Miles Edgeworth had 'talked' them into dropping the case."

Fingers gripping that little harder to receiver she enquires,

"You want me to ask daddy about this, don't you?"

"It's the only way, Trucy"

Of course she wises to contradict this statement, to tell him that it would be better to let the entire matter go and yet…

Part of her understands that this is, indeed, the only course of action, that it was better to air this matter out than to allow it to continue festering.

Thus, that understanding clear in her heart, she says, "Yes, you are right, of course," before bidding Polly a gentle farewell and hanging up the phone.

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T: I felt the need to continue the great tradition of bad pun names for Phoenix's clients thus 'Stuart T Guard' the security guard was born. I'm a little behind on chapter 4 so I'm afraid it'll probably be a week before the next update. I'll try my best to make it earlier, I promise!! Review??


	4. Dark truths

4

4. Dark truths.

T: I'm so very sorry about the delay, real life sort of got in the way of things for a while! This is the very last chapter and both the angst and the slash quota creep up just slightly because of this fact! Oh and I own nothing you see here other than the lousy, lousy, plot!!

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"So where did you rush off to this morning?" She has long since gotten used to her father's gift of identifying people simply by their footsteps and thus it is more the content of the enquiry, rather than the fact that he has asked it despite the divide of his bedroom door between them, that surprises her.

"I thought that you were asleep." She remarks as he crosses the living room and into the gentle warmth of his room.

"As I was," he responds before adding, "However, Eladoon was not."

Of course it was natural for one of her father's oldest friends to have mentioned seeing her out at a time that was not usual for her and thus she responds, "I see," before informing him, "I was doing a little legwork for Polly."

"Hmm, I was certain that he'd last at least a week before he got bored enough to start some random investigation," he remarks, before enquiring, "So what's he got you researching?"

Though she understands well how simply it would have been for her father to see through her brother's ruse she is tempted to question the fact in order to delay things a little. It is a temptation that she suppresses quickly and, removing the file from the pocket inside her cape, she says simply,

"This."

Brow creasing her father lifts himself out of his previously relaxed position on the bed and stretches across for the file.

There is a long, tense, silence and then, in a tone of voice that she has not heard since the conclusion of the Misham case, he enquires,

"Why is he looking into this case?"

"Miles Edgeworth."

A shock of something indescribable passes across his face at the mention of that name and, head turning a little from her, he enquires,

"What do you need to know?"

"It seems to me as though this entire matter is very simple, that the rumour of Mr Edgeworth using his 'power' to remove the trial from the courts was enough to drive him from the country. Yet Polly treats the entire thing like some complex murder mystery. What I wish to know is why, Daddy."

"Because _he_ remained in America for a month after the conclusion of that case, because it seemed that, this time at least, _he_ would not be so easily affected by such things."

"But then he left and, to you at least, it seemed as though their words had hurt him after all?"

"Correct, to both the press and those that he called his friends, however, it seemed as though he had left without due cause…as though he had simply vanished from the face of the earth."

"Daddy, if it turned out that there was reason other than the case for his choice, would you wish to know?"

"Why are you asking me such a question?" There is a note in his voice that, in other circumstances, she would have taken as clear warning to let the matter go. As things were now, however, the note simply prompts her to respond,

"Always when you have talked to me of him there has been a weight in your voice. For so very long I believed that that was because of the significance of his presence in your life, that what I was hearing were the lingering traces of the childhood idolisation that you had had of him."

"And now you realise that there is more to the story, that he was so very much more to me that that childish ideal of perfection?"

"Yes."

There is the faintest of smiles there now on his lips and, hands lifting to pull the beanie from his head, he says,

"It took me a great while to realise that that was the case, that the reason both his 'betrayals' had hurt so very much was because of my 'true feelings'. For a little while after that realisation I was desperate to see his face again, to assure myself that he was well and I felt that that longing would consume me. The understanding that he had left over something so very simple, that he had consciously chosen to leave without warning, eventually brought me back to 'reality'. Thus the thought that it might be otherwise…" He trails and looking at him now she is reminded, forcibly, of how he had looked on the evening after he had lost his badge.

She can recall her younger self looking at the utter sense of displacement on his face and coming to the sure understanding that she never wished to see such an expression on his face again. That she would do whatever she was able to insure that this man lived a happy life.

Almost eight years later the self same expression fills her simply with the desire to hug him tight in her arms, a compulsion that she follows with but the barest of thoughts and, once the comfort of his weight and warmth is pressed there against her shoulder, she says,

"I'll tell Polly what you have told me and then we shall let him do what he does best. We can face whatever comes from that choice when it comes."

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Miles Edgeworth is sat at the hotel bar when he eventually finds him, a delicate china cup balanced in one hand and an intricately decorated saucer clasped in the other.

"Ah, good evening, Mr Justice," he remarks as he places both cup and saucer onto the bar, "You are here to discuss the aftermath of the Guard case, correct?"

"Yes."

"I took the case in order to lessen a little of the burden that had been placed onto Phoenix's shoulders and thus its outcome…the opinions that others formed of that outcome…mattered little to me."

"But then why leave?"

"It was the only way." As he speaks the words all the confidence and surety that had been present in his face melts into something infinitely more vulnerable and, somehow, more 'realistic'. "The more that a rumour travels the more it diverges from what it had originally been. I could listen to whispers of my corruption without reaction, yet when those whispers twisted and begun to question Phoenix's integrity…"

"You reacted."

"Correct."

There is a moment of silence as he takes in this dark truth and adds it to the other 'clues' that he has collected. Then, mind focused simply on seeing the investigation through to its conclusion, he enquires,

"Mr Brody believes that you have pulled me into this matter to gain some form of redemption, is this true?"

"Yes."

"Mr Edgeworth, I understand what you have done and why you have done it, however…"

"You are not Phoenix," he responds before smiling a gentle smile and saying, "Thank you for taking the time to indulge me a little, Mr Justice and for keeping Phoenix out of jail."

Gaining his feet the other bows an elegant little bow before stepping away from the bar and heading out of the room.

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Polly had rung to inform her that he'd gotten a flight at some unreasonable time in the evening, that he'd arrived home not two seconds previous and that he'd tell her about 'everything' once he was a little less jetlagged.

Then, almost the very instant that she'd placed the phone on the hook, there'd been a knock on the door.

The man on the other side had looked familiar to her somehow and had been kind enough that, when he'd asked to speak to her daddy, she'd not given it a second thought.

The shear volume of their 'conversation' had been enough that it had taken three blankets and a pillow to muffle it enough that she could no longer make out distinct words.

About a half hour after that her father had come into her room, eyes red for crying, and told her that he was going out for a little while.

Which was when she had decided that, jet lag or no, she needs to talk to her brother.

She spends what seems like an eternity in Polly's poky little apartment, discussing the man that her father loved and whatever else crept into her brother's sleep addled mind.

Eventually, feeling 'a little better' she returns home and, as she steps into the living room, her heart swells.

For there on the sofa lies her father, arms curled tight about the stranger who had been at the door, face lit with a joy that she has never seen before today.

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T: There, it's officially dead! Review??


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